


Life is Tough (But It's Tougher if You're Stupid)

by rosewiththorns



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Bad Decisions, Consequences, Detroit Red Wings, Discipline, Gen, Kneeling, Kneeling Universe, M/M, Mouth-Washing, Non-Sexual Submission, Responsibilty, Spanking, excuses, mentoring, stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-24 00:35:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4898755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosewiththorns/pseuds/rosewiththorns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nik isn't happy with the penalty Brendan took in the game against Montreal, and he lets Brendan know it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life is Tough (But It's Tougher if You're Stupid)

“Life is tough, but it’s tougher if you’re stupid.”—John Wayne

Life is Tough (But It’s Tougher if You’re Stupid) 

Brendan’s fingers curled around the pillow beneath his knees so tightly that ivory rings formed around his joints, which ached under the pressure, but he didn’t care, because the pain distracted him from the throbbing burn in his kneecaps. For what felt like at least a quarter hour, he had been kneeling at the foot of the bed in Nik’s Montreal hotel room waiting on tenterhooks for the man he thought of as the father figure of their Detroit defense corps, to begin berating him for the penalty that everyone else seemed to think was so bone-headed but he still believed had been a rather murky call. So much was murky to him, including why he had been dumb enough to wear gym shorts instead of comfortable sweatpants to Nik’s hotel room when he had managed to predict—with almost alarming foresight, since most of his guesses about the future turned out to be more error-filled than an astrology column in a tabloid—that he would be required to kneel for a long time. 

“For fuck’s sake, just yell at me already,” Brendan burst out, exploding like the baking soda and vinegar volcano he had made as a science fair project in fourth grade, and resisting the almost overwhelming temptation to rub his sore knees, because one of the few things he knew in life without being told was that wasn’t allowed. Kneeling was all about discipline and self-control, two things Brendan epically sucked at. That’s why he couldn’t even be quiet and think about what he had done—as Nik had ordered him to do as soon as he had knelt on the pillow by the bed—especially because thinking about what he had done was a major challenge to him when his mind kept wandering to the growing ache in his knees and the tongue-lashing he was eventually going to get for batting that damn puck off the bench back onto the ice where it belonged. 

“Language, Smitty.” Nik’s voice snapped like a rubber band hitting flesh. “Watch it, or I’ll wash your mouth out with soap for you.” 

Figuring that getting his mouth washed out like a naughty child was probably the only way this situation could become more mortifying, Brendan bit his lip and mumbled, “Sorry, Kronner. I shouldn’t have cursed at you. I wasn’t thinking straight.” 

“No, you shouldn’t have cursed, and you weren’t thinking.” Nik pinched the bridge of his nose, as if Brendan was giving him a migraine. “That’s the biggest problem with you: you don’t think. You just act and then are sorry when you have to face the consequences but I never know whether you’re sorry because you’re in trouble or because you actually understand that what you did was wrong.” 

“A bit of both,” admitted Brendan, all honestly, since, as Mom always said, fools and children spoke the truth, and Brendan just hoped that he was young enough to still be considered a child. “At least I’m sorry.” 

“Yeah.” Nik emitted a sigh reminiscent of helium draining from a deflating balloon, and Brendan winced. A disappointed Nik was about ten times worse than an angry one. Wrath he could answer with his own rage, but there was no defense against another’s sorrow at his behavior. That couldn’t help but penetrate his heart like a sword. “It’s just that you aren’t exactly a kid anymore, Smitty. You’re old enough that an apology isn’t enough to fix things.” 

“I don’t know what you want me to say, then.” Brendan swallowed a “the hell” after “what” because he was afraid that even mild swearing might get his mouth washed out and felt tears prick at his eyes. Not wanting Nik to see that he was the jackpot combination of weak and stupid, Brendan ducked his head and stared at the carpet covering the hotel floor. 

“It means nothing if I tell you to say it, but it means everything if you figure it out and say it for yourself.” Nik tilted Brendan’s chin upwards until their eyes—Brendan’s soft and Nik’s firm—locked. “Let’s talk through your penalty. What in the world were you thinking when you took it?” 

“I thought we established that.” Suddenly rebellious because he hated when attention was drawn to his idiocies, Brendan jerked out of Nik’s grasp. “Like usual, I wasn’t thinking of anything, damn you.” 

When Nik lurched to his feet so swiftly that the springs in the bed squeaked in protest, Brendan knew instantly that he had gone too far. He was about to stutter out an apology for cursing out Nik for the second time in less than five minutes, but was silenced when Nik gave him a sharp swat on the shoulder and barked, “Stay there and keep your mouth shut until I tell you to open it.” 

Brendan’s jaw closed with a click he wouldn’t have been surprised to learn Nik could hear, and Nik, apparently satisfied with his compliance, disappeared into the bathroom, where Brendan could hear him snatching and slamming things. Far too soon for Brendan’s liking, Nik emerged, carrying a small bar of complimentary hotel soap and two paper cups from the stack the hotel arranged on top of every sink. 

“Open up.” Nik sat down on his bed, ripping off the wrapper around the soap bar, dumping the tatters in the wastebasket, and placing the two cups on the oak nightstand. When Brendan’s jaw reflexively clenched like a vice, Nik tapped his cheek—hard enough to make it clear that he was serious, but not hard enough to hurt. “Now, Smitty.” 

Closing his eyes because he couldn’t bear to watch, Brendan reluctantly opened his mouth. A second later, his tongue and teeth tingled as a bar of soap ran across them, traveling slowly enough to leave a trail of suds the way a dying snail oozed a path a slime. Since the bland hotel soap was designed to be nothing more than inoffensive and sterile, it had no scent, and all Brendan could taste was bubbles. He was gagging on the suds and the sides of his mouth felt scraped raw, so he was grateful that at least his eyes being squeezed shut kept the tears from flowing down his face like a river. 

“That’s done.” Nik’s tone was milder as he pulled the soap out of Brendan’s mouth and tossed it in the trash. Holding a paper cup of water out to Brendan, he added, “Rinse.” 

With fumbling fingers, Brendan took the cup and pressed it against his lips, sucking in water and swirling it around inside his mouth until the coat of soap on his teeth and tongue was mostly removed, so all that remained was a nasty aftertaste.

“Spit.” Nik thrust a second and empty paper cup under Brendan’s chin. 

When Brendan obeyed, glad to have most of the soap expelled from him at last, Nik threw both of the cups into the garbage, as Brendan choked out, “I’m really sorry I said that to you, Kronner, and not just because you washed my mouth out.” 

“Good, Smitty.” Nik brushed the hair away from Brendan’s forehead in a gesture that always made Brendan feel as if everything stupid he had ever done was forgiven and all that was wrong in his life was going to be all right, after all. “I didn’t enjoy doing that to you, but I can’t let you curse me out when you’re kneeling for me. Kneeling is all about discipline, which you showed a lack of when you took that penalty tonight. Tell me what you were thinking when you took it.” 

“Nothing special.” Feeling like the locker room idiot—because he was smart enough to know he was dumb—Brendan shrugged. “Just that the puck was out of play and going onto our bench, so I figured that it would save time to chuck it back into the action immediately, but the ref didn’t see it that way, unfortunately. Really it was a murky call by the ref.” 

“A murky call by the ref?” repeated Nik, shaking Brendan’s shoulder, going from comforting to stern in a heartbeat. “Is that what you honestly believe or is it just some excuse you invented because you don’t want to blame yourself?” 

“I don’t make excuses,” Brendan recited primly, since that was one of the unwritten but sacred tenets of the Red Wings that he had actually managed to memorize, and he was proud of that. 

“That sounded an awful lot like one.” Nik grabbed Brendan’s elbows and yanked him forward, so that his face was lying against Nik’s comforter and his bottom was spread across Nik’s thighs. Before Brendan could stammer out a question about what Nik was doing, Nik provided a strong reply, though not the one Brendan would’ve wanted to hear, by hammering his hand against Brendan’s butt with enough force to propel all the oxygen out of Brendan’s lungs. Applying a series of stinging swats to Brendan’s rear, Nik went on, “The call was about as murky as filtered water. You need to grow up, stop seeing yourself as a victim, and start taking responsibility for your own behavior.” 

Stunned that this was happening to him even though he knew that some people were spanked when they knelt, because Nik always seemed like a remarkably non-violent person off the ice, Brendan muttered, “I thought spanking wasn’t done in Sweden, Kronner. 

“It isn’t.” Nik’s grim tone was just audible over the sound of his palm smacking Brendan’s behind. “In North America, it is, though.” 

“It’s done to children, yeah.” Brendan was eager to clarify Nik’s cultural confusion. “Not adults.” 

“You took a childish penalty and childishly refuse to take any responsibility for it.” If anything, Nik was hitting harder. “I think a childish punishment is just what you deserve, don’t you?” 

“No,” yelped Brendan, hating the fact that logic was even more difficult when a fire was being ignited in his bottom. “Neither should you, since you just said I’m not a child, Kronner.” 

“You aren’t a child.” Nik’s palm continuing to strike Brendan’s butt made it plain that he wasn’t persuaded by this argument. “When you act like a child, I’ll treat you like one, though.” 

Brendan couldn’t devise a response more articulate than a whimper. Humiliated that such a sound had escaped him, Brendan stuffed his knuckles in his mouth to smother any more pathetic noises. 

As he did so, Nik chided, “You—only you, not the ref—took a penalty that could have cost us the playoffs. You could show some remorse.” 

“I’m sorry.” Brendan’s knuckles couldn’t stifle this cry because the heavy spanks combined with the harshness of Nik’s manner when he was usually a gentle leader was utterly undoing Brendan. “It was all my fault, and I swear I’ll do my best not to take a penalty as bad as that one again in my whole hockey life.” 

“All right. I believe you.” Relenting, Nik massaged Brendan’s back with the hands that had been blistering his backside less than a moment ago. “It’s okay. Everything is all forgiven, as far as I’m concerned, Smitty.” 

“What do you mean, Kronner?” His cries ebbing into hiccups, Brendan stared up at Nik with a tear-splotched expression. 

“Babs is going to want to speak with you tomorrow.” Gingerly, Nik wiped the tears away from Smitty’s cheeks with a Kleenex from the box on the nightstand. 

“Shit.” Brendan whistled and interpreted it as a sign that he was back in Nik’s good graces completely when he received no reprimand for the foul language. “I forgot about that. What the fuck am I going to tell him?” 

“What you told me. The last part, I mean.” With a dry chuckle, Nik deposited the dirty tissue into the wastebasket. “Not the first part. If you tell Babs the first part, he’ll go nuclear, and that’s something you never want if you have any idea what’s good for you.” 

“I can’t.” Brendan shook his head. Call it whatever—courage, pride, stubbornness, defiance, or just simple stupidity—he never could bring himself to confess to Babs that he was wrong, because he knew that Babs would give him the patented Mike Babcock scathing scrutiny that meant he was wondering how the imbecile he was surveying could be so dumb yet still able to master breathing. 

“That would be a bad decision.” Nik drew air between his teeth in a hiss. “Haven’t we just spent a long time talking about those, Smitty?” 

“We spent a long time talking about the consequences of those, Kronner.” Brendan’s jaw tightened. “This is my bad decision, and I take full responsibility for the consequences.” 

“Babs will go easier on you if you just admit to him that you screwed up.” Nik squeezed Brendan’s shoulder. “If you get the bit between your teeth and insist you were right, you’ll probably find yourself benched for a long time.” 

“I’d rather be benched than tell him I fucked up.” Brendan’s chin lifted. 

“Well, you can’t say I didn’t warn you, Smitty.” Although his words were exasperated, Nik’s fingers were affectionate as they ruffled Brendan’s hair. “I guess I just can’t fix stupid, and the more I try, the bigger idiot I become.”


End file.
